


The New Sweets Shop Across The Street Has A Really Cute Cashier

by sugary_words



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Actual tags now, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, God - Freeform, Heavy Angst, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Major Character Injury, NO IT IS NOT DOUBLE SPACED IM BEING HONEST, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Seventeen - Freeform, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, THE FIRST CHAPTER IS SEVENTEEN PAGES, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, WTF, Yamaguchi Tadashi's Freckles, anyway, everyone is a gay disaster (trademark), everyone is bad at feelings, i broke my back for this, im sorry, like fr im not kidding, wow this took so damn long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugary_words/pseuds/sugary_words
Summary: Well, the title explains it all. The new sweets shop across the street has a really cute cashier, and their nametag reads "Kageyama Tobio".
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Ennoshita Chikara/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Haiba Lev/Yaku Morisuke, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kindaichi Yuutarou/Kunimi Akira, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The New Sweets Shop Across The Street Has A Really Cute Cashier

**This work was inspired by another work on Instagram that has since been deleted. However, I chose to continue this story anyway, because why not? I'm adopting the story. The original idea came from @haikyuu.twitter_.au! They have several other AUs that I thoroughly enjoy! Please go check them out.**

* * *

It was morning.

Work started again today. 

At least, work for Hinata Shouyou, who was less than excited to get out of bed. He wanted nothing more than to grumble and twist away from the delightful yet taunting noise that his alarm emitted. But he couldn't stay in bed forever. Why?

Because he feared Sugawara Koushi, that's why. Not even Tsukishima was as scary as Suga when he was angry.

So that is why he dragged himself out of bed, stumbling three times, not bothering to silence the alarm. He kept his blanket wrapped around him as though he were an old lady in the woods. He smelled food, and in wondering where it was coming from, trotted down the stairs, sticking his legs out precariously as though to make entirely sure that he would reach the following step, as height sometimes prevented him from doing that. The occasional tumble down the stairs was not rare in the slightest, and explained the bruises on his legs and arms. He managed to get down safely this time. Following the direction in which the food smell was coming from, he half-heartedly bounced into the kitchen, and was vaguely pleased to see a lanky figure with blond hair at the stove. 

He was already dressed for some god-forsaken reason, not that Hinata really cared. Looking sleep-deprived as usual, there at the stove in all his glory stood Tsukishima Kei, his step-brother. Since their parents had married—single gay moms unite—they'd been step-siblings. Which, of course, the tangerine ball of sunshine found exciting, while the bean pole remained indifferent. Or, as Hinata liked to call him, a soggy french fry. They were still living with their parents, but as both of them were in their twenties, they were allowed to do as they pleased. It allowed for them to slip in and out of the house easily, without drawing too much attention, and work never needed to be brought up in discussion. There are also cons to this, like how the hell Tsukishima manages to be both a night owl and an early bird—without their parents complaining—like some freak. Hinata swore he didn't hear the boy go to bed, and he stayed up 'til three in the morning purely out of jumping nerves and thrumming excitement, speeding up his heart, reddening his face, refusing to let him rest until tossing and turning finally got the better of him, the stars winking at him as he slept. It was now a quarter past nine, and the night owl was somehow up and dressed before Hinata was. How? He didn't know, and he didn't think he'd ever figure it out. 

In spite of all this, he was still pleased to see him at the stove, making whatever he was making. As long as it had meat, Hinata didn't care. 

"Nii-chan!" Hinata said as he walked up to Tsukishima, sleepily wrapping his arms around him. The blond promptly stiffened, uncomfortable and unused to physical contact.

After a lagging few minutes of zero response, the only sounds being Hinata's breathing and the sizzle of food, Tsukishima slowly relaxed, but still pushed Hinata away by his forehead. 

"Don't call me that," he hissed between his teeth. 

Hinata was used to this. The Tsukishimas were not a very physically affectionate family. He'd watched his mother struggle to introduce physical intimacy to Kei's mother, and watched Kei's mother struggle with physical intimacy when trying to show love to others. It was cute, but somewhat painful to watch when Kei's mother could do nothing more than lift her arms and give two solid pats to the back when Natsu hugged her. He watered it down to a work in progress. She was trying. Kei, however, was not. But, at the very least, he didn't kick him away when he tried to hug him any longer, and at least relaxed into it after a given amount of time. It was enough. He was also a work in progress. However, on the whole "Nii-chan" note, Hinata hadn't the least as to why Tsukishima was so against being called that. Maybe it's because he just called his older brother by his given name. Whatever it was, it never failed to make him recoil. He'd call him that without him recoiling one day. He was just... a work in progress. 

"Alright, alright," Hinata sighed, lumbering over to the table, slipping into a chair, keeping his blanket tucked tight around him. It wasn't long until a pale hand with long fingers adorned with decorative rings and silver bracelets left a steaming plate in front of him. He hid a smile that threatened to creep upon his face. Tsukishima walked back over to prepare a plate for himself, and leaned on the counter, diagonal from Hinata. The sun shining on the baby blue walls and counters seemed to contrast to him. It gave him a hauntingly pale aura, making his faded green top look brown. Hell, if Hinata were stupider, he would've thought Tsukishima was the moon, with how pale he seemed in the sun. 

"Thanks, Tsukki."

Tsukishima's face turned into one of disgust. His eyes clouded over. "Don't call me that either."

"Nii-chan, then." Hinata began to gobble down his food, cheeks wide like a chipmunk.

"No."

"'Ell themn, Chsookie." Hinata said, his mouth full. He thought Tsukishima would be over the past buried behind that old nickname.

Tsukishima sighed in defeat, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Hinata idly wondered if his mother did that, too.

"Call me Nii-chan." The very sentence seemed to make him shiver, and he recoiled again at his own words.

"Okay, Nii-chan!" Hinata said, having scarfed down his entire plate in one gulp. He could tell by the empty expression on Tsukishima's face that he was beginning to regret this.

He merely turned away and sighed and muttered something under his breath about it being better than being called Tsukki all over again. Hinata pretended not to hear that, not to let thoughts of a certain green-haired boy invade his mind today. Tsukishima was always mad when he crossed his mind. 

But neither Hinata nor Tsukishima could stop the fleeting image of a smiling green-haired boy with stars for freckles. But that wasn't important. Especially not to Tsukishima.

All it took was a single thought for the room to become heavy and sticky and sour. The air was weighed down with many things, the most evident of which being rotten, rotten regret. Hinata, attempting to lift the mood, patted Tsukishima twice on the back, unknowingly snapping him out of a daze, and said, "I'll wash the dishes with you, yeah?"

* * *

The air was wet. Not from rain or dew, as it wasn't April and it was too late for dew. It was humid. The hot air clung to everything within reach, and air conditioning did nothing more than push the hot air around. Hinata knew this, yet still turns it on just like he'd used to before the club shut down for a season. At the very least, it served to push the hot air to other victims, in this case Tsukishima, who could suffer instead. With a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, he sauntered up to him, chin pointed upwards, and asked, "How's the weather up there?"

Thank god for Sugawara calming Tsukishima down before Hinata saw his life flash before his eyes.

"Now now, no fighting," Sugawara said, facing Hinata and tugging lightly on Tsukishima's ear. "It's only our first day back. Try to leave the rivalry at home."

Tsukishima grumbled, reclaiming ownership of his ear, and stalked off, mumbling something akin to "There is no rivalry," scowling so deeply he petrified Yachi as he passed. The girl shivered, rooting herself to the spot.

Suga only sighed, shaking his head lovingly as he walked to relieve the shivering girl. He spoke to Hinata as he patted Yachi's head. "So, Hinata," he said, an easy smile gracing his features, "how has your season off work been? Get up to anything fun?"

Hinata—forgetting to answer—cocked his head and took in the scene around him. The sun barely pierced the sheer pink curtains with a white lace trim, bathing the room in a glowing rose gold. The golden crystal chandeliers reflected the light, and a bit of it flecked across the room. The lavish furniture, colored a sparkling magenta, held fluffy pink and white pillows. The extravagant carpet—pink, magenta, and gold—seemed to bring the room together. It was beautiful here, truly. Expensive, but beautiful. The people stretched across the couches about the room made it better, all of them beautifully captivating in their own way. 

This may be a matter of opinion, or the way the light shone that day, but Hinata was sure the prettiest one there was Akaashi, if not Suga. Well, maybe a better way to say this was that Suga was handsome, but Akaashi was pretty.

Suga, still comforting Yachi, wasn't particularly tall, but he was tall enough to rock mom jeans. He wore a pink sweater top with a cute strawberry in the middle over a dress shirt. That shirt was his favorite, but Hinata could never figure out why, as it seemed so plain to him. Suga didn't have on any jewelry like everyone else wore. He claimed not to like the idea of being flashy. It suited him, strangely. His hair was already flashy enough—silver colored—like jewelry in itself. He had warm brown eyes, which was also surprisingly plain. Everything about Suga was plain. But his eyes held warmth, his hair shined, and his simple style radiated elegance. He'd always said there was elegance in simplicity. Hinata began to think he was right, in the way he seemed to clash with the surrounding environment, but fit perfectly at the same time. Suga was definitely handsome, as though he'd built himself.

But Akaashi, on the other hand, was pretty. A beautiful, drop-dead, steal-your-boyfriend- _and_ -your-girlfriend kind of pretty. He sat in the far end of the waiting room, on one of the plush magenta sofas, book in his hands, legs crossed. His pale skin glowed and his dark hair shone in the rose gold light, accentuating his sharp features. His blue-green eyes skimmed over a book, his long eyelashes framing them. Thin-rimmed glasses sat perched atop a sharp nose, just far enough from his eyes to make him seem sophisticated. He wore a deep green butler suit, with a gold watch in the suit pocket for decor, and thin sheer black gloves. He had gold dangling from his ears as well, matching the gold of the pocket watch. Akaashi was definitely pretty. Hinata had a strangely hard time understanding how he was the most expensive host when someone like Akaashi existed. It frayed his nerves. But Akaashi was always kind, so Hinata had no reason to feel any bitterness towards him. He just seemed so mysterious. 

That's not to say that there weren't other beauties scattered across the room. Hinata may be dumb, but he's not dumb enough to say that Suga and Akaashi were the only gems here. Take Oikawa, for example, leaning against the sofa closest to Hinata like a delinquent. The basic pretty boy. He was certainly pretty, no doubt, but his ego far outshined his looks. But nobody could argue with him. He had every right to be full of himself. Heck, Hinata wouldn't be mad if Akaashi were secretly full of himself. They were pretty boys. Oikawa was a different kind of pretty than Akaashi, though. Oikawa wasn't elegant pretty—he was model pretty. That's why he took on the most daring style anyone had here—an e-boy sort of look. He wore nothing but black and white, sometimes with graphic tees. He always had silver chains gracing his wide neckline, delicate wrists, and sometimes his waist, too, if he wore crop tops. Rings were on almost every finger. His ears were pierced in several places, with nothing but silver hanging from them like a chandelier. He had two lip piercings, studs, that he had a bad habit of worrying at with his tongue if he was nervous. He never wore heavy makeup—neither did Akaashi, they were pretty like that—but he did wear mascara almost daily. Sometimes his nails were painted, which was "in", according to him. It was strange that he was so pretty yet had simple brown hair and simple brown eyes. Maybe it's because his brown eyes were surprisingly icy and his brown hair was always perfectly styled. Maybe that's why he was so pretty.

But let’s not forget Kenma, the boy stretched across a magenta ottoman, head hanging off of one side, feet off the other. Kenma was the simple kind of pretty. There was no real way to explain it, if that made sense. He was just...pretty. He had yellow cat-like eyes framed by black lashes. If you weren't careful, Kenma could draw every secret out of you just by looking at you. His hair was shoulder length, blond but with black roots. His hair wasn't blond like Tsukishima's... It was more saturated. Tsukishima's was closer to platinum blond. Truly as pale as the moon. Kenma wore a frilly red maid outfit with bows all over it. If Hinata didn't know Kenma like the back of his hand, he would have thought Kenma was a girl. His long white stockings and red heels didn't help the fact that he was male. He even wore a headband, but would wear bunny ears if he was paired with Hinata, which Hinata really appreciated. Kenma's features were more striking than anyone else here, but he hid being pretty by constantly being absorbed in that switch of his. Not that Hinata was complaining. He liked watching Kenma's cat-like eyes race back and forth across the screen, shining from the weak fluorescent glow. Kenma was simply pretty, like he was born to be. 

Then there was Asahi, standing politely near a golden lamp with a white lampshade. Asahi was handsome, like a true gentleman. Soft, caring, and loving. He wore a lot of yellow, Hinata noticed. Yellow suited him. Like today, he wore yellow. A lemon yellow sweater over a navy blue dress shirt. With some ripped jeans he was sure to grow out of by next year. And let's not forget his lemon yellow converse. He had clothes in all sorts of different shades of yellow. Mustard, Canary, Royal, Gold, Cyber, Greenish; you name it, he had it. Anything that was xanthic in style or appearance, Asahi certainly had it. It was a wonder he hadn't dyed his hair yet. His hair was a chestnut color, long enough to go past his shoulders. But there was no mistaking him for a girl. He was rather big in stature and quite muscular. Unless you saw girls with that height and stature on a daily basis, you couldn't possibly mistake him for a girl. He tended to tie his hair up in a loose bun anyway, so you'd get a clear view of his close-shaven beard if you looked close enough. Sometimes he wore headbands to hold back the strands that escaped his loose bun. Today there was a lemon yellow headband holding his hair back, but even then, a few strands of chestnut brown would slip past when he bent down, cascading in front of soft coffee brown eyes like a waterfall made of honey. Asahi was an aesthetic, simply put, for those who could stand to see the beauty of him past his bad boy looks. He had pierced ears, but rarely wore earrings unless he was entertaining a customer. He'd often wear silver, as it matched with the leather he was usually wearing in the host club. But if you asked him, Asahi was a sucker for gold. He had gold earrings on now, tiny little lemons encased in gold, if you would believe it. Asahi was pure, that goes without saying. He was a pure kind of handsome. 

Sitting on the magenta armchair next to the lamp was Yaku. Yaku liked to call Hinata shrimpy even though they were almost the same height. Hinata never minded, though. He was fonder of Yaku's harmless jokes than he was of Tsukishima's more biting ones, probably because Yaku was short, too. Toffee hair and neutral eyes to match graced his simple features. Yaku was pretty, too. Hinata was rather sure Yaku had the longest eyelashes out of all of them. They were graceful in the way they fluttered over his eyes, matching in color. The perfect frame. He made a mental bet that Yaku likely gave the best butterfly kisses. Whoever was his lucky soulmate was luckier than they thought. He was pretty sure that if he asked Yaku, he wouldn't mind, but Hinata had pride. He didn't really want to have it wounded by asking his senior if he would care to share some butterflies. Yaku would often dress in animal themed clothing. For example, today he was a cat, so of course, he had a beige graphic tee with a picture of a tabby on it paired with bleach-washed jeans. He wore a set of tabby ears and tail that matched the one on his shirt. Not to mention he had felt paws, too, but his jerkwad of a step-brother Tsukishima would sniff arrogantly at the paws as though he'd never had a "furry" past. As a result, Yaku doesn't wear the gloves in the morning, but Tsukishima does. The only reason he does is because of his super secret undying respect for Sugawara and whatever demands he makes. Don't ask him about it. But of course, Yaku, like, (almost) everyone else, he had jewelry. Rose gold roses on his ears, one was dangling and one was a stud. He had matching necklaces and bracelets, each containing one delicately crafted rose-gold rose. His favorite flowers were roses. And rose gold was his favorite color. No wonder he always asked to host in room number seventeen. Toffee brown suited rose gold, and Yaku knew that better than anyone. It made him a cute kind of pretty. But don't call him cute unless he's hosting. He's short enough to do considerable damage to your kneecaps. Don't ask Tsukishima about his nearly invisible limp. 

Also, there's Kunimi, the bastard level of pretty, leaning by the window, eyeing passerby, and licking his lips depending on what he saw. He vapes, and Oikawa juuls. Hinata swears they're the same thing, but don't say that in front of either of them. He didn't think anyone was more shrill than Natsu when she cried, but then he met Kunimi, and mentioned that he thought vapes and juuls were the same. Of course, Oikawa had a reaction, too, and they nearly pierced his eardrums. Suga put an end to their excessively high complaints with a threatening tug on their ears. If you aren't careful, Suga can and will judo throw you by your ear if you don't shut up. Don't ask Oikawa or Kunimi about the red marks on their ears. Kunimi, in simple terms, was simply even more basic than Oikawa. He had simple jeans ripped at the knee revealing fishnet stockings (which Oikawa would wear quite often, and even wear fishnet tops, now that Hinata thinks about it, and idly wonders if they live together) that went down further than his rolled up jeans. He never wore socks if he wore fishnets. Something about the layering and the sensation being weird. Kunimi never wore socks if he could help it. Hinata was certain his fishnets were worn at the heel due to constantly wearing them and the rough sole of his white sneakers. He wore a simple black shirt with the word "bitch" on the front in all lowercase, and the pronunciation under it, with the definition reading "You". It was his favorite shirt, and Hinata couldn't blame him, it was funny. He had a jean jacket over that with grey-colored sleeves and a hood, which he currently had resting over the back of his head. If Kunimi's jeans sagged a little more, Hinata would've thought he was American. Kunimi, like everyone else, wore silver. But not that much. More often than not, he'd have on black stud earrings with a simple silver chain. Sometimes he'd have chains on the belt of his jeans, too. Now for what Hinata considered to be the most interesting part of Kunimi: his tongue piercing. It was sometimes black, sometimes silver, whatever he happened to feel like. Kunimi claimed a tongue piercing made oral sex feel fantastic for guys when you had one, but Hinata didn't know if Kunimi knew this to be true, much less had experience. If you asked Oikawa, he'd tell you Kunimi was a hussy, but you really shouldn't believe everything Oikawa says. That being said, Oikawa isn't exactly a liar, it's just that nobody bothers to believe him due to his history of over exaggeration. But Hinata thought Oikawa might be on to something when he would see Kunimi awkwardly waddle or wince when he sits down. Hinata had a feeling that for both Kunimi's sake and his own supposed "innocence", everyone willfully ignores it. Besides that, his tongue piercing definitely made him look cool and badass. Cooler than Oikawa, to some degree. His facial appearance was also pretty badass. He had big black eyes that always seemed flat or disinterested, which was hauntingly attractive to Hinata. His matching black hair was smooth looking, about as nice as Oikawa's. He was disturbingly alluring and his charm lay in that horrible condescending smirk he'd have on his face most of the time paired with those uninterested, gleaming eyes. He was pretty, but almost pretty in the way a complete asshole would be attractive. Kind of like Tsukishima, but less pale. He was a bastard kind of pretty, crafted by deception and the stuff of nightmares.

But of course, there were also precious women of the establishment! Both of them were very pretty and the second most expensive hosts. Kiyoko Shimizu and Hitoka Yachi. Hitoka was cute. Very cute. And also very kind. She had short blonde hair with some of it tied up with a pretty blue star barrette. She often wore fluffy pink (they were always pink, if not yellow) dresses and carried stuffed animals in her arms. Hitoka had since calmed down from Tsukishima's petrifying glare and was now engaging the huge teddy bear known as Asahi in conversation. Hitoka's love for pink and his love for yellow went together really nicely. It took Hitoka a while to approach him because of how terrifying he looked in his usual host apparel, but he came to work in yellow one day and it was so much easier for her. Since then, they've generally been inseparable. They remind Hinata of roses, almost. Yellow and pink roses. Idly, he thought yellow and pink roses would make a wonderful addition to the entryway. Or maybe sunflowers and daisies. Hinata didn't know for sure what the two of them reminded him of. He decided he'd just stick with Roses. Hitoka had amber eyes like Hinata's, pretty and soft. Maybe it was because of his similar eye color that she approached him first. Or maybe it was that he seemed the least threatening. He didn't blame her. At first glance, these guys could be terrifying. Oikawa still scared him out of his skin if he smiled a little too widely. Hitoka also had freckles. Small, and not very prominent, but still there, ambling over the bridge of her nose and lightly dotting the top of her cheekbones. Not quite like—well... an old friend. That old friend's freckles smattered every inch of his body. All across his face, smothering his cheeks, a few on his chin and forehead and ears, several on the back of his neck and shoulder blades, inching down the length of his arms, spotting his fingers, creeping down his back like an army, and he was certain there were more where his eyes never traveled. But he couldn't dwell on old friends. Tsukishima would know just by looking at him, and then the blond would be irate for the rest of the day. 

Then there was Shimizu. She rarely spoke to anyone outside of work. She was very quiet, but also really nice, especially to Hitoka. She was similar to Akaashi in the way she kept to herself, sitting by the window near the far end of the room, watching the birds hop on the railing outside. Akaashi was the only one she'd really actually have genuine conversations with, come to think of it. They would have quiet discussions about books and customers and other things that Hinata couldn't understand. Also, Shimizu was stunning. One can't possibly forget that. Hair as black as Akaashi's that swept down her back in soft waves, eyes as blue as the sea, and a tiny mole by her lip all came together to make what Hinata considered the prettiest girl ever. Truly stunning. And Akaashi was just as stunning as her (if not more, in his opinion, but he was biased, he liked guys better anyway). Oftentimes, the bright glow of two exceptionally beautiful people sitting together, having tea and chatting about books like Narnia could really make your eyes burn. Sunglasses were recommended, even in winter, because that's when they spoke the most. Hinata knew he looked silly wearing them in winter, but in all honesty, being too pretty was a federal crime and he could put them in pretty jail for shaming the rest of them by existing. Of course, he wouldn't actually do that, and being too pretty wasn't actually a federal crime, but it should be and he stands by that. All jokes aside, Shimizu was stunning. She often wore baby blue dresses to bring out her eyes, along with white whenever she could. She didn't bring stuffed animals but she did have flower-patterned bags and pretty bows to wear in her hair. Today, that bow was a baby blue, which matched with her frilly dress and shiny dress shoes. Hell, if he didn't know Shimizu was considerably older and more mature than him, he would have thought she was a teenager. 

Tsukishima walked back into the room, flomping ungracefully on the chair a distance from Hinata with an 'oomph' and rested his chin in his gloved hands. He was wearing the animal paws, as was routine. Tsukishima was pretty, too. Almost in the bastard kind of way like Kunimi. His platinum blond hair (all natural, if you would believe it) lay in a mounted mop of messy curls atop his head, some normal blond streaks peeking through. His golden eyes were framed with shiny glasses, the rims (surprisingly) a clear bubblegum pink. They were close enough to his face that peeking over them would make him seem as though he was rolling his eyes. Hinata thinks he does that on purpose. While his eyes were gold, they were also cold and piercing. A glance from him could freeze hell over. He seemed to know what you were thinking just by looking at you with golden, golden eyes. His eyes shone like normal eyes do, but they were often dull. His eyes hadn't glowed since that old friend, and Hinata's incident only made them darker. He hadn't dressed quite the same either. His clothes weren't bright any longer. Today he wore a muted lime green button down tucked into ripped and cuffed navy jeans. If he'd been happy like he used to be, that shirt would be brighter, and his jeans would be bleach-washed. His shoes wouldn't be scuffed and grey. They'd be white, the pristine color they used to be before he gained his burdens and chains. Though he walked tall, if you looked closely enough, you could tell something was weighing him down, dragging behind him, reminding him with every step all of his faults and trials. Tsukishima had a harder time letting go of things. Every time something big happened with him involved, regardless of whether or not he was at fault, it was an added weight to his load. He was a prisoner of his past. Hinata wished he could help him, but something always stopped him. Something told him that it wasn't his job. He hoped whoever was meant to help him came soon. He got worse with every day that passed. On the brighter side of things, he was able to hide it gracefully. One look at him and you'd assume he was an arrogant prick, and you wouldn't be wrong, but you wouldn't see his shadow. Besides his muted clothes, he also wore silver, and sometimes gold—if he could bring himself to. Today he wore silver, though, long tassel earrings that brushed his neck when he tilted his head to the side and sighed heavily. A silver necklace graced his pale collarbones, a gold ring dangling as the charm. His fingers were laden with silver rings, odd pictures and symbols and patterns scrawled into them. The sun shone on him, bathing him in rose gold light, barely saturating him with color. He was too pale for that. Hinata swore he reminded him of the moon, pale, white, shining when the world is at its darkest. His sharp and cold demeanor only intensified his resemblance. Not to mention that he had a hidden dark side and burdens of his own to face. Aureate and austere, Tsukishima was the moon. All he's missing are his stars. 

Then there was Hinata, the man himself! Or so he liked to think. His host outfit was formal attire, a rest vest and white shirt with a black bowtie and black shorts. Occasionally, he'd wear skirts, if he was paired up with someone else, but going solo, he wore shorts. He wore black and white striped socks up to his thighs (to hide his bruises from falling down the stairs) and a big orange jacket (much too large for him) with large black bunny ears attached to the sides of the hood and beads to act as eyes and a tiny sideways "3" for a mouth. Hinata's favorite animals were bunnies, so of course he had a bunny themed jacket. His style was definitely a stark contrast from everyone else, but for the most part, Hinata wasn't so good at subtly expressing himself. That's why his outfit wasn't exactly "with the trend", but it was good enough for him. Besides, it worked with his bright orange hair and amber eyes. He was the most expensive host, but as said earlier, he had a hard time understanding why when people like Akaashi and Shimizu have the nerve to exist. Both of them were tipped very well, so Hinata wouldn't be surprised if Akaashi or Shimizu was making more than everyone else. At least, at work. He was pretty sure Kenma made a lot of money too, with his YouTube channel booming in popularity and the work at the host club. He wasn't quite sure what everyone else did (that is, if Oikawa isn't a model and Kunimi isn't an escort), but he knew that it was likely that Akaashi, Shimizu, or Kenma were the richest here. Maybe all three of them have equal incomes, who knows. He didn't actively discuss money with them anyway. Hinata had always been told he was bright, like the sun, though he didn't see why. As far as he cared, he may be the main attraction and most expensive host who's constantly booked, but he knew he wasn't the main character here. **(A/N: Hinata is NOT the main character here, nor is this KageHina centric. Everyone else has their demons and I intend on making this a stellar story with varying points of view. By god, I will psychoanalyze each of these characters to the best of my ability and make this a very good read.)** He knew he was just lucky. And yeah, he was okay with that! If luck was enough to give him a solid salary and a great life, then so be it. He wasn't complaining. 

"Oi, Hinata!" Suga called. He remembered he hadn't answered his question from earlier. Suga must have forgotten as well. "Shop's opening soon!" He smiled and winked at Hinata, successfully raising his spirits. Work was hard sometimes. "If you haven't got any customers now, wait in the break room!" He turned and notified everyone else. Hinata stretched and cracked his knuckles before walking up to Suga, yawning. 

"Any customers today, Suga-san?"

"For you? Yes. It's not like nobody knew the shop was opening today."

Hinata sighed and tried not to let his sudden drowsiness get to him. He jogged in place, to which Suga looked at him funny, but didn't say anything. He decided his blood was pumping enough after a few seconds, and found himself able to stand without clutching to his sides to keep himself upright. "Alright, I'm ready. Which room?" Hinata turned to Suga, who smiled pitifully at him. He wondered why Suga didn't get many customers. He'd have to ask Kenma to make a video with Suga to increase his popularity. 

"Room 34." Suga reached out and ruffled Hinata's hair. "Good luck."

Hinata reached up and grabbed Suga's hand. He held it in his hair. Suga looked confused for a moment, but soon got the message and continued ruffling his hair. He smiled softly as he looked at Hinata, brown eyes shining with an emotion Hinata couldn't read.

"Thank you, Suga!" Hinata nearly shouted, pulling down Suga's hand and mashing his cheek against it affectionately before rushing off to room 34. 

He could feel it in his legs as he stood before a high, high door with the number '34' in brass on it. Today would be a long day. He inhaled, steeling himself, and exhaled, feeling heavy weights slide off of him and his host persona slide on. He smiled at his own exhaustion, and decided to use that as his base. Smiling wider, hand on the brass handle, he turned the knob and cracked open the door. 

'Here goes everything...'

* * *

Hinata plopped on the white sofa of the break room in an ungraceful manner, legs spread wide open and arms flailing about until they found a surface to lay on, one of which being the back of the sofa and the other being Tsukishima's lap. Tsukishima stiffened, but relaxed a few seconds later and muttered a small "Bearable" before continuing to read the book Akaashi had recommended to him.

Akaashi and Tsukishima had a decent relationship. Akaashi understood the importance of silence and Tsukishima respected him for it. If Shimizu wasn't available, you could find Tsukishima and Akaashi sitting together reading books. They didn't speak—not often, anyways—and the silence was unnerving to Hinata, but to them, it just worked. Hinata supposed that there was no need for discussion between the two of them. Communication to them was simply the flutter of a page being turned or a deep, steady breath. Opening your mouth just wasn't necessary. On the other hand, Hinata was similar to Oikawa in that he usually used his voice to communicate. There was the occasional time where Kunimi and Oikawa could have a detailed conversation by a single look or Hinata and Tsukishima could read each other's minds, but for the most part, Oikawa and Hinata needed words. And when they spoke, you could usually expect their hands and splayed fingers to emphasize every syllable of their rant. It was endearing—if you could handle their enthusiasm. If not, it was more annoying than anything, and like Tsukishima, you'd be itching to pass them off to the next available person. 

The break room was almost as nice as the lounge/waiting room. It was of ample size with plenty of entertainment options and refreshments. Working here has its perks. Only a handful of people were in here, as some of them were still entertaining guests. Asahi and Hitoka were crafting flower crowns using the flowers they'd picked outside. Oikawa and Kunimi were vaping and juuling on the balcony outside, taking Instagram worthy aesthetic photos (that they expected every single one of their coworkers to like and comment on) and trying to make different shapes with their smoke. They were riots. And Hinata and Tsukishima lay sprawled on the couch, Hinata watching whatever was on the television, and Tsukishima reading. Hinata didn't really care what was on. Something about the life of a sleep deprived writer. 

Hinata yawned and settled into his peaceful surroundings. He allowed his body to sink into the couch and his breathing to slow to a relaxed pace. He heard the idle audio buzz of the TV, the excited chatter of Asahi and Hitoka, the occasional words exchanged between Oikawa and Kunimi. It was nice to be silent, just for a little while. As he breathed, he felt his limbs melt into his surroundings, even the one on Tsukishima's lap. Slowly, they became numb and senseless. He closed his eyes. The blackness of his eyelids and steady breathing and melting of his limbs further encouraged his journey. He breathed and breathed and breathed until he was no longer aware of it. He slept. For one minute, at least, in which Tsukishima smiled to himself, feeling his brother's arm become like lead on his lap. 

Oikawa and Kunimi chose that exact moment to remember that they had accidentally locked themselves outside, and relentlessly pounded on the glass, shocking Hinata out of his short slumber and making him jump several feet into the air before landing and stumbling to rest on the door of the break room, clutching at his chest to catch his breath. The door was suddenly swung open, sending Hinata flying, landing on his knees on plush royal blue carpet and knocking his face into the fluffy arm of the sofa. He stayed like that for a while, taking in the initial shock that plagued the room, before Tsukishima snorted rather loudly and started laughing. 

Hinata slowly got up, propping himself up on the arm of the sofa, dusting himself off. He had half a mind to tell Tsukishima off, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. Instead, he found himself staring, mouth agape, at the scene in front of him. Tsukishima was laughing. Sure, it was at his own expense (which he had a few choice words about) but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. It was the first time Tsukishima had laughed in what seemed like years. Hinata had tried to make him laugh before—tickling, funny videos, sometimes he'd even purposely do something stupid—all to no avail. He'd get a smile sometimes—even if it was more so a smirk—and if he was lucky, he'd get Tsukishima to sharply exhale out of his nose. But he never laughed. 

He didn't have much time to think about it though, because an excited Yaku leapt into the room from the door, not noticing the chaos he'd ensued, and began to hop excitedly. 

"Guys, guys, guys!" He stopped his jumping and instead settled for a trembling in his jaw and ankles. He held an ice cream cone in one hand—cherry flavored, his favorite—and a small plastic spoon in the other. Something he never understood about Yaku was his weird way of eating things. He ate fries with a fork, ate the crust of the pizza before the actual pizza part, and preferred consuming his ice cream with a spoon, even if it was in a cone. He'd then eat the cone after he'd finished half of the ice cream. Chaotic, but that was Yaku. Hinata didn't have any complaints because he bit right through popsicles anyway, to which Tsukishima shamelessly showed disgust and gave him a stare leaking with absolute disdain for three minutes. "There's a new sweets shop across the road! They're just opening today and giving out free ice cream! One cone per person, though..." Yaku pouted at that (and his fake animal ears seemed to droop, too?) but as soon as he did, a smile broke out across his face. "You guys should go get some!" 

Now, it is common knowledge that Hinata is not very good when it comes to consuming sugar. It only takes fifteen minutes to kick in, but once it does, he will talk twice as much as he jumps, and will fidget thrice as much as he talks. It takes a few hours, but eventually he fizzles out as quick as a flame in water and drops. He often ‘drops’ (goes limp, droops, closes his eyes for a second too long) right in the middle of jumping, and Tsukishima is often the one to catch him. That’s how his old glasses were broken, right down the center, a huge snap with shattered glass and suddenly Tsukki is blind. His favorite glasses, layered with dinosaur and strawberry stickers, all plastered on by the same person, broken. He was incomprehensibly angry when they were broken, and though Hinata couldn’t empathize, he knew why Tsukki was so angry. It had been an old friend smothered in freckles and joy that had put those stickers on them. They were twisted around the temples like bandaids because they were always too big to be seen properly. No matter. At least Tsukki knew what they looked like and could remember the exact date for each of them. Hinata never understood why he kept those glasses, snapped and useless, on the corner of his desk, but he never questioned it. He figured it added to the chains locked around his ankles, heavy and growing with regret. This is why Tsukishima has clear pink ones, courtesy of Natsu, whom Tsukishima was simply too soft to refuse. He is careful with these, but you can tell in the way he folds them that they are not as precious to him as the untouched black ones, layered in stickers and festered love. 

Now, Yaku may or may not know about the horrible side effects that come when Hinata intakes sugar, and he may or may not know how irresistible Hinata considers sugar to be, and it is for this reason that Tsukishima curses his name in the back of his mind as he walks across the street with Hinata, who is already vibrating with excitement. Scratch that, he’s bouncing now. Several. Feet. In. The. Air. How the boy manages it, not even he knows. 

Crossing the street with Hinata is an unpopular task. Kenma is really the only one who can still him for long enough to pass safely. Suga is in second place, though he sometimes has to steer the boy by his shoulders and stiffly stride across, occasionally lifting him in the air if Hinata can’t keep up. Tsukishima is in third place. As his older brother, he at least knows how to keep him from running out in front of a car, though that often ends up with red marks on Hinata’s neck from Tsukishima jerking him backwards out of the way by his collar. Hinata doesn’t mind. He knows he’s rather impetuous and awfully headstrong. He’s the type to rush into something without thinking, so thank goodness his mom found a suitable wife **(A/N: sapphics bro,,, we fuckin LOVE sapphics in this house)** with an asshole son who cares just enough to keep him from being too stupid. He’s sure Tsukishima cares, but like he’ll ever admit it. He’s an asshole and everyone knows it. Just for good measure, he whips his head around to look at Tsukishima and thinks ‘ _Asshole_ ’. Tsukishima just raises an eyebrow at him, the right side of his lips quirking downwards. He _swears_ a look of amusement passes in his eyes before returning to the usual deadpan. It had been a while since emotion had reached his eyes. 

Hinata turns away and slaps his cheeks, trying to get the excited jitter out of every inch of his body. Yet he was still shaking. He tried to swing his arms back and forth and roll his head side to side to get some of the jitters out. Nothing except a few weird looks and a pained sigh from Tsukishima. The line began to dwindle. He got more excited. Trying to resist the jitter was useless now. He instead began to bounce again. He bounced just on the tips of his toes, shoes worn out at the bend from constantly doing this for years. He then hopped from foot to foot. Much less weird looks, though he could feel Tsukishima’s eyes boring into the back of his neck. No matter. He is long since used to his weird looks, especially since he learned of the lack of ill intent behind them. Tsukishima may be an asshole, but he’s a softie… sometimes. If you’re close enough to him. If he knows you. If he likes you, even. But there’s only ever been one person he liked, and needless to say, he was nothing more than the shadow of a memory in the depths of Tsukishima’s dark mind. If you ever shared a room with Tsukishima, sometimes you’d hear him mutter things in his sleep, the most prominent being a forgotten name. But that’s not important. The line was more important! And they were almost there. 

Two people. Two annoying (and surprisingly tall?) people idling in front of the cashier, making conversation with—what Hinata assumed to be—the manager, holding up the line. Hinata swore he would wear out the pretty pink and blue tile on the floor if he didn’t get the chance to move with how much he was bouncing. He was beginning to get dizzy and he could feel his senses pumping into overdrive. He needed something to ground him. He shifted and bounced from foot to foot, desperately trying to _patiently_ wait for the people to move out of line. One of them had a shock of red hair, was almost as loud and animated as Oikawa, and had his arm draped around the shoulders of a rather stoic looking man. Both were horribly intimidating. Hinata idly noticed that the stoic one looked oddly similar to the manager. Related, perhaps? Whatever. Ice cream was the priority. And by god if he didn’t get some he was going to riot. 

And then, a tiny, small, almost unnoticeable tug interrupted his train of thought. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Tsukishima. He immediately calmed, freezing in place, reducing his bouncing to a idle shift and his wringing hands to a small sway. A second tug reminded him of his breathing. He closed his eyes and focused on it, taking deep inhales and exhales, letting his jitters leave him. A third tug reminded him of his heartbeat. He could feel it slow with his breathing, relaxing into a normal pace. An open-handed push reminded him of the line. He stumbled forward, eyes flying open, duly noting the absence of the two people before bumping directly into the counter before the cashier. He stumbled backwards, to which Tsukishima grabbed him and forced him upright. He was dizzy.

Shaking his head, he looked up at the cashier. 

He immediately took back what he said about Akaashi being the prettiest. The guy in front of him was definitely the prettiest boy he had ever seen. 

And what shocked him was that he was so _plain_! So eyesoringly simple. But he was so pretty. He had sleek hair that was so black it was almost blue. And he had blue eyes, eyes as blue as the midnight sky. His skin was olive colored, not too pale and not too tan. He was tall, almost as tall as Tsukishima. The filtered sun through the windows could do nothing to brighten this man’s appearance more than he already was. He vaguely reminded Hinata of the sky. The sky was always a series of colors, home to the Sun, Moon, and Stars. Something seemed to click in his mind. Though he was certainly getting ahead of himself, he wondered if this man here would be the one to bring balance. He wondered if they’d been imbalanced all along, stumbling into adulthood in comfortable dysfunctionality. What if this was the shifting point?

“Oi!” the man drawled, leaning over the counter, eyebrows furrowed over deep blue eyes, slightly overgrown bangs framing his cheekbones. Hinata nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I asked you what you wanted, boke.” (Hinata heard his manager idly shout something about being rude to the customers, and the man barked something back about talking to a _child_ ???) The man straightened up, high like a flag pole, eyes never straying from Hinata’s amber ones. He felt frozen to the spot, intimidated by an icy stare and prominent features. This man was a masterpiece. He almost appeared as though he were chiseled by the gods. Before he could stop himself, looking downwards out of shame and curiosity, he allowed his eyes to trail down the man’s chest, stopping idly at a nametag pinned sloppily on his left pec. _Kageyama_ , it read. That name sounded familiar. He swore he’d heard Oikawa say that name between a few choice words. His favorite was “Bakayama”. But, of course, there was no telling that this was the same man. Hinata curled his lip and looked up at the man, his eyes hard set.

“Two scoops of blood orange ice cream in a cone, please.” It wasn’t hard to hear the edge on his voice, piercing and rude, making Kageyama raise an eyebrow. 

“Haah?” The man mocked, tilting his head and feigning ignorance of Hinata’s words. “I didn’t quite catch that. Mind _repeating it_ for me?” Oh yeah. This was going to be a fight. Hinata could feel it in his bones. He was going to jump over the counter, surprising the fuck out of this idiot, and pounce on him. He was going to release his unbridled rage upon this man, like a demon from the pits of hell-

“Two scoops of blood orange ice cream in a cone and two scoops of strawberry ice cream in a cone. Please.” Tsuskishima’s voice rang clear in the shop. It had an edge to it, a subtle edge, that made Hinata’s hair stand on end. For a moment, he expected there to _actually be a fight_ , for Tsukishima to look this man in the eye and for the man to pounce on Tsukishima instead, stubbed nails, fists, and teeth used as weapons. Instead, the man straightened up, looking Tsukishima in the eyes, before glancing down at Hinata. 

His face twisted into something foul for a seemingly very long two seconds before reverting to normal “customer-service-retail-half-smile” **(A/N: you know the look bro,, like :) but more like :/ y’know???)** and muttering through gritted teeth and a dull edge: “Sure. I’ll get that ready for you. Just wait over by those seats and I’ll call your order number, six hundred twenty-three. Thank you.”

Hinata was confused. How had this man managed to snap in and out of a mood so quickly? Weird, whatever that was. But that wasn’t important! Blood orange ice cream was on it’s way and there was, thankfully, no longer a need for a riot. He bounded over to the matching pink and blue painted chairs in the far corner, and waited. He did not sit down. Screw sitting down. Sitting down was for the weak. Sitting down was for the lazy tall people, like Tsukishima, adjacent to him, plopping down in a chair. He had way too much energy to possibly sit down. Screw it. He stood and bounced on his heels and his toes, getting weird looks from everyone else, and Tsukishima’s judging stare paired with an exasperated sigh. Whatever. If Tsukishima was really embarrassed, he wouldn’t be here with Hinata. 

The shop was small, but cute. The walls were light blue, the floor-to-ceiling windows facing front had pale pink blinds, and the tile on the floor was patterned with pale pink and light blue. It was nice here. It reminded him of the break room in the host club, despite it being considerably smaller and less expensive looking. It had relaxing vibes. Hinata began to smile, still rocking back and forth on his heels and toes, gazing out the window, drinking in the outdoor scenery. The host club was just across the street. He could see the fancy looking entrance and Oikawa’s trademark balcony from where he was. He felt the sun strike through the window and slowly paint his face golden and his hair a dazzling red. He smiled more. This was a nice place. He would have to come back here.

He suddenly felt eyes on him. Not Tsukishima’s eyes, his gaze felt like fire on his skin. And not the good, turning on kind. The bad, actually burning kind. But back to the eyes he felt. Whoever’s gaze it was, it felt serene. Like one of genuine interest in him. He jerked his head around to find who it was, and locked eyes with the cashier. For a moment, everything was still. Blue, blue eyes. As blue as the midnight sky. Why was he looking at him so intensely yet so softly? What was it? And why didn’t he want him to look away? Usually Hinata hates people staring at him. Eyes feel like pressure. Eyes feel like judgement. Eyes feel like a haunting. And yet, these eyes were okay. They meant no harm. It was like he could look at them forever. But it was only for a second before the cashier turned his gaze away, back to the ice cream tubs, scooping out strawberry and piling it onto a cone. His hair fell in front of his eyes, the ends grazing his high, elegant cheekbones, and framing him even more mysteriously than before. Hinata knew he could feel his eyes on him in the subtle way shifted his face to allow his hair to droop further down his face. Hinata watched his arms as they flexed subtly against the black fabric of rolled up sleeves, pulling his hand back from the bucket of ice cream. Little flecks of pink were on his gloves, pink, pink ice cream against mint green gloves. He watched as the man straightened up and turned around, hips swaying subtly yet so alluringly, hair falling just above his eyes. Every movement he made was hypnotizing. His eyes danced as he followed the man’s swaying hips and searching eyes, scooping ice cream and delicately placing it atop a waffle cone. 

“Six hundred twenty three!” Hinata jerked out of his fantasy to find the man’s eyes pinned on his again. What a world this was, where men such as “Kageyama” were allowed to exist. Disgusting yet awfully tasteful of whatever creator existed. What was this? Flirting? Were they flirting now? Not even ten minutes ago this man had called him an idiot and now he couldn’t get his eyes off of him. Fuck. 

Before he could let his eyes leave the man’s and trail down his neck to his loose shirt buttons and exposed collarbone, he shook his head as Tsukishima prodded him in the back, striding swiftly towards the man to collect the cones. 

And then it happened. 

“Yamaguchi! You take over in ten minutes, alright?” The voice of the manager in the back room. Hinata froze. He watched Tsukishima freeze in place as well. What a familiar name that had been. Oh no, what a familiar name that had been. Hinata could see the panic, the confusion, the anger, the regret in Tsukishima’s eyes, all boiling up at once. He stuttered for just a second before grabbing the waffle cones and turning to Hinata. His eyes were wide with shock, his posture was as tight as a stitch, his jaw was set hard as stone. Oh no. 

“Yes sir!” Oh no. Was that voice coming closer? Hinata could hear light footsteps marching down the hall. “I can help Kageyama at the front desk right now if you want—”

Oh god. Oh no. 

Hinata couldn’t believe it. There stood the freckled boy, frozen like a deer in headlights, staring at Tsukishima. Oh no. The boy sputtered, tripping over whatever words he had meant to say, petrified in the presence of the moon. 

The manager had already idly spoken his reply, but Hinata doubted any of them heard him. 

The boy began to pant. Hinata could see his eyes turn to spirals and his knuckles turn white from gripping on the doorway. His face was one of panic, truly terrified of the sight that lay in front of him. Tsukishima did not turn around. Without a word, without even glancing at the boy, without even handing Hinata his ice cream, Tsukishima turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop, slamming the glass door behind him, and a tiny bell fell to the ground, rolling, rolling until it hit Hinata’s sneakers. It was silver, but the fading wails of the freckled boy and the sunlight pouring through the window made it seem golden. 

* * *

Hinata was tripping over his shoelaces, and his extra large hoodie did no good to help him spot his feet.

“Tsukishima!” 

He knew he wouldn’t get an answer, but it was worth a try. 

“ _Tsukishima_!” 

He was an adult, god dammit. He deserved an answer. 

But the blond just wouldn’t give him the time of day. 

Hinata was right behind him when Tsukishima stormed into their home, 10 at night, throwing off his shoes by the door and not paying any of the worried “Are you alright?”s and “How was work?”s any mind at all. He didn’t even spare his mother a glance. Hinata tried to grab onto his clothes to keep up with him and keep himself from slipping, but Tsukishima was simply too swift. In a heartbeat, he was up the stairs, Hinata desperately crawling after him, and in another, he was in his room, dead silent, Hinata standing outside of his door. Hinata stared at his sneakers for a while, wondering if he should knock, yell, or do nothing of the sort. He sighed heavily, the events of the day weighing heavily on his shoulders. All of this on the first day back. Would Tsukishima even come to work tomorrow? Who knows. In the back of his mind, he could still hear the freckled boy crying, confused and devastated. 

He plodded back to his room, his head hanging low, his feet dragging behind him. He blindly felt his way to his room, walking inside, noting his still beeping alarm clock, and pounded a fist down on it to shut it up. He was certain he’d broke it. No matter. 

He fell back onto his bed, too lazy to change out of anything. He laid on his right side, eyes drawing him to the window, a clear view of the night sky through sheer curtains blown apart by the cool breeze. All he could see were stars. Like freckles. 

All he could see were freckles. 

They winked at him all night until he slept.


End file.
